


Disenchanted

by starswan



Category: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell (TV), Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell - Susanna Clarke
Genre: Anger, Biting, Brief Strip Tease, Dom!Stephen, Emotional Sex, Games, I am Weird Kinky Trash, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Kinky Submissive Gentleman, M/M, Magic, Mild Horror, Mind Sex, Orgasm Delay, Pain/Pleasure, Possessiveness, Sass, Sex with a fairy isn't normal, Slight Derealization, Spanking, secret feels, slight jealousy, what do you expect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-28
Updated: 2015-09-28
Packaged: 2018-04-23 19:18:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4888885
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starswan/pseuds/starswan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally posted on the JSMN Kink Meme.</p><p>Stephen is feeling rather sour lately about his life in general and notices that this has a most unexpected effect on the terms of his enchantment. He feels the heaviness lifted from him. Suddenly impatient in the face of the Gentleman's behavior, Stephen decides that he needs to be taught some manners! The Gentleman reacts in a way that surprises Stephen...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stephen Black was vexed. And not just a little. He was, in fact, rather  _angry_. No matter the excuse, he had grown so tired of having to be in several places at once, whether it was the current incompetence of some of the newer staff, or indeed the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair urgently whisking him away at a moment's notice in the midst of his duties! He did not relish his servant's duties quite as much as previously, he had to admit. His day life had lost whatever splendor it once had and he was beginning to wonder if it hadn't always been a bit for shit. But who else was going to see to the household affairs, if he did not? The thought of allowing rampant disorder when he could have a hand in straightening matters troubled him more than his worries and perceptions about his "rightful" place in the world.

 

Lately he had begun to cultivate his anger. He was the sort who was always expected to keep it together, manage his life and his chores with a calm face and a cool head. The mark of a perfect servant was that he was neither seen nor heard ,but everywhere apparent whenever one should have need of him. Sir Walter may have allowed him certain social liberties as a means of advertising his liberal politics, but Stephen never crossed any lines with his behavior. However, he was seriously considering altering his personal policies.

 

A peculiar side effect of having his usually mild displeasure raised to the status of Scarcely Contained Anger, was that his head felt clearer than it had in months, perhaps even years. It seemed that the angrier he felt, the more that he asserted himself, the more lightly his enchantment weighed upon him. Stephen wondered if perhaps he had unwittingly stumbled upon some magical loophole, the key to altering the nebulous bargain between the Gentleman and himself. If someone had asked him,  _"How did you manage to become enchanted in the first place?"_ , he would not have been able to give them a clear answer. One moment he was flattered by the Gentleman's notice, the next he was standing inside of a queerly dilapidated, magical house being asked to dance,  _every night for the rest of his life_. Perhaps even beyond it...

 

But anger. Anger was the key. Though it had not been the key to Lady Pole's freedom. Her other self emitted wild sparks of anger and yet it had not done her the slightest bit of good in over five years! It had only made her even more tired. Then again, the terms of her enchantment were different. It had something to do with that one English magician, Gilbert Norrell. Oh! Stephen  _detested_  that man. Yes, think about him, think about him and all of the overly privileged villains who were responsible for his current state of affairs. He could be so much more if he was only given the chance! Oh dear. He was beginning to think like the Gentleman. Though, why on earth not? Did he not have a point?

 

Stephen stomped back to his room in a most unbecoming manner, and muttered something akin to an evening greeting to Sir Walter on his way out the door.

 

He was so shocked by his butler's uncharacteristically black mood that he sat holding a book, staring, but failed to reply as the door shut firmly behind him. Sir Walter sighed, shrugged, and returned to Mrs. Radcliffe.

 

Stephen endeavored to march angrily down the path, but at length he grew weary and resolved to stop. It was with relief that he did not feel the enchantment with its long, thin fingers creeping its way back inside his head. Perhaps the anger's effect would last him a while longer. Stephen ducked inside of his usual club and ordered a pint of ale. He had scarcely had time to take a few sips when he disappeared from the booth. Fortunately, nobody had been paying any attention.

 

Stephen rematerialized, sadly without his drink, in front of the Gentleman who was stood by the door to his convoluted mansion flashing him a winning smile as if Stephen had just won a prize simply for being there.

 

His smile faltered and he raised an eyebrow.

 

"Whatever is the matter with you, Stephen? You have this look about you as if you were infused with turbulent magical energies. "

 

"It is called anger, sir." Stephen remarked dryly.

 

"But why ever should you be angry when you are now here in my company with the evening's delights before us? I dare say it is something to do with that life you lead in that dreary human country. Speaking of which, I have some important matters to confide to you, Stephen. Come!"

 

Stephen sighed.

 

The Gentleman was in rare, paranoid form that evening at Lost Hope, and it was simply the last straw for Stephen. He stood patiently as ever, to begin with, while the Gentleman launched into a tirade about the magicians, how stupid and ugly and utterly meddlesome they were, how irksome. Really, if they were in fact so witless and lacking in talent, how in the world did they pose such a serious threat? Stephen had glimpsed them both and had heard reports of their magical accomplishments and was decidely unimpressed. The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair could wave his hands and move mountains or remove the two of them to a far corner of the globe at a moment's notice without breaking a sweat. Did fairy gentlemen sweat? He was over four thousand years old. He could probably kill someone by snapping his fingers. How on earth did two clumsy, human magicians who relied heavily on a pile of books to find their way around magic measure up to  _that_?

 

No. The Gentleman was being completely ridiculous as usual as they sat in a secluded parlor away from the dance. Stephen should have given the place a special name for they always removed there when the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair wished to either complain or to gush out of earshot of the rest of the assembled guests which was frequently as of late. He seemed to be about to boil over. 

 

"I have it, Stephen! I know the very thing that will make them wish that they had never taken up the practice of magic. Oh! It will destroy them utterly…"

 

"They will wind up destroying each other after I have unveiled this…"

 

"…and then I will crush them once and for-"

 

The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair was forced to cease his rant when a most surprising thing occurred-Stephen Black reached over and slapped him hard across the face!

 

Stephen froze, still irritated but also a bit terrified. His hand felt hot. The Gentleman's face was twisted in a mad fury, but like waves crashing in the ocean, the lines of his face suddenly softened into something quite different. If Stephen had to find a word for it, he would say that the Gentleman looked positively  _elated_.

 

 "I am sorry for that, sir, but you were beginning to get a bit…"

 

"No!" he said sounding ecstatic. "Do not apologize, Stephen. I cannot remember the last time that someone was so… _forthright_  with me." He smiled across at him oddly. "Such authority, such poise! I can well imagine what you will be like when you are a king, Stephen. Oh, yes."

 

"Sir?" Stephen said frowning in puzzlement.

 

"I must say that anger quite becomes you…" the Gentleman continued in a strangely fond tone. "It renders you even more handsome than usual!"

 

Stephen's sudden burst of anger had granted him a greater degree of clarity than he had yet felt, but he still did not know where the Gentleman was headed next with his eerie praise, or did not wish to. It made him uneasy. He never quite knew what was expected of him.

 

"Indeed. You will find once you are a king that you will be required to, well, exact punishments on the occasionally unruly subject." He continued though he could have been carrying on a conversation with himself. 

 

Stephen remained silent, taking in his surroundings. He was vaguely aware of what the Gentleman was saying, could see his thin, pale lips moving. He fixated on them for a moment. There was something altered about them though he could not say what so he continued to stare. He began to see strange little details about the walls, the chairs that they were sitting upon, the light, that had escaped his notice before. He was properly seeing for the first time. The Gentleman was a glowing ember at the heart of the room with tiny threads made of light or fire or air that was both and neither, connecting everything, and spilling out of him at various points. Stephen was seeing the  _magic_  that supported the place. He felt that he could reach out and touch the threads, the threads that spilled forth out of his mouth with his speech. He had to stop himself from reaching out a hand.

 

The Gentleman continued with his discourse all the while observing Stephen with his usual blend of unsettling familiarity.

 

"As a matter of fact, I think it best if you continue to exercise these noble impulses in preparation for your kingly duties."

 

"Sir? What impulses are those?" Stephen said, returning to the conversation.

 

"I would like you to show me exactly how you intend to inspire…obedience." said the Gentleman crisply.

 

Stephen felt his anger resurfacing. "Is this a game to you, sir?!"

 

The Gentleman clapped his hands in glee. "Yes! Yes! That's it! Become righteously indignant! I will be your subject and submit myself to your displeasure all in the name of the great love that I bear you and my desire to help you to your rightful destiny!"

 

Stephen mulled this proposal over for a moment carefully. The situation that he found himself in presently was no more bizarre than usual, he reasoned.


	2. Chapter 2

"Well, I think that as king, " Stephen began, "I would endeavor to teach you better manners!”

 

"Oh! And how do you plan on accomplishing this…your majesty?" the Gentleman asked resting his chin on his hands, his smile feral and lopsided.

 

"Well….when children misbehave, is it not customary to…to…"

 

"Yes, Stephen?"

 

"I reckon that in times where the offense is quite severe," Stephen cleared his throat, "a spanking is in order." He felt his face grow hot. Was it the magic of the place seeping into his head or did he just make a rather lewd suggestion? Stephen regarded the Gentleman whose expression seemed to lift with something like wonder. The threads surrounding him became less distinct, blurred together and glimmered along the edges. 

 

"Well then," and the Gentleman stood with due solemnity and knelt before Stephen, "I place myself in the palm of your most noble, elegant hand, my dear…king."

 

Stephen stood ever so still in contemplation. The sight of the Gentleman on bended knee in front of him transmuted his anger into something slightly different, but no less intense. He found himself wanting to run his hands through that soft looking hair and kiss those impertinent lips. Instead he grabbed the Gentleman by his arms and hoisted him up in a manner that was almost rough. The Gentleman seemed to approve of this gesture.

 

"Ah! You have such a firm grip, your grace!" he enthused. 

 

Directing him to a nearby sofa, Stephen pointed and spoke. He was not sure if he would be able to pull this off without breaking his countenance, but he would try. 

 

"Please sit and await my orders." Stephen had not lost his manners and did not see why a king could not be mannerly even if he were stern. He removed his coat and set it neatly on a chair opposite and began to roll up the sleeves of his shirt. The Gentleman silently watched, practically throbbing with anticipation. 

 

Stephen sat beside him trying to pluck up the courage to match his actions to his words. He was searching for the anger that he had felt coursing through himself earlier, but it was now melded with a faint shimmer of desire. Every evening that the bells and the Gentleman's will had beckoned him here, he had stood patiently by always observing cooly, but never truly connecting his observations with his feelings. To do so might be terrifying if only because he beheld things that would under more normal circumstances shock and horrify him. Maintaining a discreet distance from them was a good way to survive the ordeal. And then there were the pleasures which were in some ways more frightening than the horrors. Dances that made him buzz from head to toe, wines that tasted faintly of...Music that lured and pulled at him, an occasional touch from his dance partner, icy and careful, foreign, not human. Alien. Fairies did not move as humans moved. He had attended servant's balls and the comparison was eerie. And then there were the Gentleman's touches which were numerous and fleeting, but which always left a mark on him for the remainder of the evening. It could be something as simple as leaning on his arm or a hand at his shoulder. But for some reason, everything at Lost Hope was magnified, heightened incomprehensibly. And when the Gentleman actually brushed his fingers on skin, say, across his cheek, or at his neck, Stephen had to retreat as far within himself as he could manage without losing sight of his surroundings or else succumb to the experience like a man drowning. 

The Gentleman growing a little impatient inched forward. Stephen knew that he was likely about to leap off into a precipice if he went through with this. His feet were at the very edge and he was staring down into blackness, still trying to skirt around it somehow. He leaned over and pulled the Gentleman across his lap which inspired a startled whimper. He had never noticed if the Gentleman breathed as humans do, but he was breathing rather audibly now. Before he had the chance to think too closely on what he was about to do, he brought the flat of his broad hand down hard across the Gentleman's backside.

 

"I will teach you a lesson you will not soon forget, sir!" he reprimanded trying to flip his desire back to some sort of righteous anger.

 

The Gentleman flinched and let out a little cry. It perplexed Stephen to consider if it was pained , or something else. He slapped him across his cheeks a couple more times before pausing, his hand tingling.

 

The Gentleman felt hot and cold all over and a variety of other sensations that he was not accustomed to. "Oh, Stephen! You are quite adept…" the Gentleman began to gush.

 

"Shh. Be  _silent_  until I command you to speak." Stephen admonished him.

 

"Yes, your Majesty," he moaned.

 

Hearing the timber of his voice made something snap inside Stephen's head. They might as well have been back at the dance spinning in delirious circles, but he could not quite tell who was leading. He gently lifted the Gentleman to a sitting position and steeled himself for his next order, making the mistake of looking into his eyes first and nearly losing hold of his command of speech. His otherworldly beauty seemed somehow illuminated, the patterns of light enveloping his head and shoulders like an eerie halo. He glanced at his lips again thinking that he could not maintain his severity if he yielded now. He had to maintain some semblance of control. 

 

In as level and authoritative of a voice as he could manage, he said, "I want you to remove your breeches."

 

The Gentleman smiled like a fox , threatening mischief, but did as he was told putting on a show for his royal observer. He removed his shoes, untied his pants, unfastened the buttons at the top before pushing them off of his pale, slender hips, all done very slowly. He then stepped out of his breeches carefully, not troubling to fold them or put them away and peeled off his stockings. Stephen watched every little action fixedly, noticing more of his pale skin emerge from behind his garments. The Gentleman was quite a lovely sight with his shirt hanging down, bare limbs underneath, but still wearing the elaborate jacket and waistcoat he reserved for the ball.

 

"Come here," Stephen intoned in a voice a touch softer than he had planned.

 

The Gentleman stepped over to him until he was practically hovering, the front of his shirt hanging in his face. He smelled faintly woodsy and sweet. Stephen was terribly conscious of the fact that he was about to cross a most definite line he had never previously considered. Well, almost never, if he was being honest with himself. He had always found both men and women attractive, not that he would likely be permitted to…not with his extensive duties. Everyone relied upon him. And in his spare time, he did  _read_  about, certain things that supposedly occurred between men, however slightly hinted at. Stephen allowed his florid imagination to supply the details. And he had overheard conversations in his later wanderings through town, before his enchantment. He may also have experimented on himself in the privacy of his room late at night after a grueling day to see what felt pleasurable, door locked with a chair and something heavy propped up against it, his hands meandering all over his touch-deprived skin . He was relieved that nobody could glimpse these secrets. It was one thing to desire men amongst certain classes if you were discreet, quite another to be neither English, nor white, and a servant harboring forbidden urges. 

 

Stephen had to admit-the Gentleman with the thistle-down hair was quite a rare specimen of masculine beauty. He lingered at his lips for a fraction before placing a hand at his waist and steering him down towards the sofa. He heard the Gentleman sigh as if he would utter something, but then thought better of interrupting his King in his plans.

 

Before even being asked, the Gentleman folded himself across Stephen which would have provoked the latter's annoyance (he had not after all instructed him) if he was not incredibly distracted by the view. He ran his fingers across that smooth, pearly skin causing the Gentleman to shiver before bringing his hand across his bare flesh, harder than before. The sound that this unleashed from the Gentleman went straight to Stephen's groin. But for the sake of his agreement with himself to remain in control, he attempted to ignore it. He slapped him repeatedly, relishing the feel of it. The Gentleman gasped and cried out in equal measure. He mouthed Stephen's name against the cloth of his leg. It grew damp from his lips and muffled his voice.

 

Stephen could feel him growing hard against him as he jerked forward with each strike, his pale ass cheeks rather than blushing took on a whitish glow. He paused, slightly out of breath and caressed the warmed skin again. The Gentleman was shaking and clawing the sofa where his arms and hands rested. He moaned against Stephen's legs with each caress, so gentle and intensely pleasurable on his overstimulated skin. Stephen laid a trembling hand at his waist. He experimentally ran a hand up the back of his shirt, tugging it up and rubbed at the muscles there. The Gentleman sagged at the touch.

 

Bringing him up to face him, he noticed that the Gentleman's eyes glittered as if they were slightly moist. They were half shut. He looked drunk as Stephen caressed his cheek.

 

"I want…" Stephen began tentatively, forgetting for a moment to dictate.

 

In a ragged but clear voice, the Gentleman replied, "A king takes what he wants…"

 

Stephen leaned forward to capture his lips. They fit together a little unevenly at first, but once he was over the initial shock, Stephen slid his tongue into the Gentleman's mouth and felt him opening up beneath him. He had little experience with human mouths, but he was starting to realize why people in books could literally spend hours doing nothing but kiss. The Gentleman's long thin fingers came up to brush his scalp and Stephen emitted a high pitched moan. He sensed that earlier apprehension that he might lose himself returning. He felt rather than saw images in his head, diffuse, scattered, some gentle, some violent, none of them slowing down long enough for him to grab hold, the Gentleman's reflections perhaps bubbling up like those golden threads that he had glimpsed before. Was he allowing Stephen to see or letting them slip through in a moment of vulnerability?

His mouth wasn't enough. Stephen ran a hand under his shirt and down past his waist and into the Gentleman's lap. He gathered his swollen cock in his fingers and pulled gently at first, tugging as if asking, not really caring for a moment if they were still playing a game. The Gentleman's kisses slowed and Stephen allowed his thumb to linger in the crevice at the tip, rubbing painfully slowly just to see him twitch before moving his hand down the shaft in long, leisurely strokes. He savored the slippery feel of it, the Gentleman's gasps, watching him come undone despite himself, biting back the urge to talk. He was trying to fight Stephen a little. There was probably no situation in the Gentleman's life where he relinquished control to this degree, not even with a lover, especially not with a lover. It was costing him, even as enthusiastic as he had been to allow his favorite to rule over him for the evening. 

 

Stephen bit the Gentleman lightly on the lips. He felt him relax more underneath him relinquishing whatever sliver of control and feistiness he had been clinging to as he continued to work him over. Stephen refused to quicken his measured, calculated pace even as the Gentleman squirmed and moaned his name in supplication. He wondered just how long he could sustain it, not knowing if there were some hidden differences in fairy anatomy, which well he appeared mostly human in that respect, apart from the fact that he was so very pale as to be translucent and the tip of his cock was slightly less round, almost pointed. Stephen gazed at it, the Gentleman's mouth pressed to his ear, gazed as he had at his lips, watching it move and twist in between his dark fingers while his captor emitted various pleas. Not wishing to find out just how much of his ministrations he could handle before he exceeded himself, Stephen withdrew his hand slowly, regretfully.

 

The Gentleman shuddered and emitted another sigh clearly biting back an impulse to protest now that he was emerging from the haze of pleasure somewhat. He stilled when Stephen reached over to push back his jacket and unbutton his waistcoat leaving him in his shirtsleeves, basking in the attentions paid to him by Stephen's rather skilled hands. He had not meant to treat him as a servant though he found himself lapsing at times, depending on him in small ways, thinking how lovely it would be if Stephen were to reside at Lost Hope so that he could rather unnecessarily have him bathe and dress him if only to profit from the touch of those hands on a full time basis. He had better examine himself or he would wind up completely besotted!  

Stephen thought that he looked oddly exposed when he was without his lordly attire, like an exotic sea creature missing its shell.The Gentleman stood and went down on his knees before Stephen again. He took one of Stephen's hands and placed a lingering kiss to his palm before transferring it to his cheek.

 

"Stephen…bid me do you another service…, " he said as he closed his eyes. "I humbly beseech you. I would do  _anything_  for you, my beauty…"

 

Stephen chewed his lower lip before affecting an attitude of calm and grace that belied how he really felt. The service he was pondering was no more distinct than that of being allowed to touch him everywhere. He was unequal to voicing aloud one desire in particular so instead he brought the hand that clutched his own and drew it over to the top of his breeches.

 

The Gentleman could feel the painful extent of his arousal and worked hard to school his face.

 

"I want you to free me… " Stephen began "…from these impediments and…"

 

"What was that, my lord?,” said the Gentleman suddenly regaining some of his sass. “I am but a lowly subject who does not quite get your meaning unless it is described rather  _plainly_  to me. I beg you to try again." He said now petting his hand and smirking affecting a confidence he did not completely feel. But Stephen did not need to know that. 

 

Was the Gentleman not so subtly mocking him? Whatever it was, it seemed to do the trick because Stephen's eyes flashed and he felt that familiar burning sensation at the pit of his stomach.

 

Stephen reached forward, gathered some of his thistle-down hair in his fingers and gave it a yank. "You know precisely what I mean! Be so kind as to remove these pants! Now, please.”

 

The Gentleman actually look stunned for a moment before his eyes shifted to a look of burning adoration.

 

"As you wish, your highness," he smiled to himself head bowed so that Stephen could not see. Oh, he was enjoying being bossed around by Stephen far more than he cared to admit. Little did the Gentleman know how much he gave away with his eyes.


	3. Chapter 3

Stephen watched the Gentleman affect a tiny bow before Stephen could affect another angry remark. He complied if not meekly then at least reasonably obediently. The fairy began lightly at first on the ties, but at length he tore at the buttons of his pants with a bit too much force and then allowed them to drop unceremoniously to the floor with a clatter.

 

Stephen shot him a look that said that he was not best pleased. The Gentleman continued by pulling his breeches down to his ankles with a little flourish. He followed up with his stockings allowing his nails to graze the skin on the way down all the while suppressing the urge to tear them clean off. He felt his "lordship" jump slightly.

 

At the removal of his under things, Stephen sighed to feel the cool air upon his manhood. Before he could utter a remark about him ruining a perfectly good pair of breeches, the Gentleman placed his long fingers on his thighs parting them slightly and wrapped his mouth around him, drawing him in until Stephen could feel his cock touching the back of the Gentleman's throat. He tensed for a moment, a bit concerned to be allowing such a sensitive part of him to be tendered by someone towards whom he felt genuine fear as well as a frightful attraction. Stephen tried to grab hold of the remaining bits of his earlier resolve before melting under the sensation. He was lifted up away from himself slightly by a stream of images. He held fast to something in the palm of his hand, whether leaves or water or bits of sand, he could not be sure. It was vitally important that he not open his fingers lest they spill out and float away never to be retrieved. There were cool, icy fingers in his mind, teasing, prodding, trying to gain access as the Gentleman always tried to gain access each night, a little push, a little bit closer, focus on me, acknowledge me, let me in! He felt the Gentleman's mouth on his flesh, his breath that was not quite hot. Yes, focus on that. Don't let him in, don't let him see. Only think of how it feels on the outside.

 

The Gentleman ran his lips and tongue all over the length of him before pulling him back hard into his mouth with surprising force. At several points, Stephen feared that he would lose control and lose himself all down the Gentleman's pale throat, but this odd mixture of pain and pleasure would crest and then fall ever so slightly before continuing pitilessly toward a release that never arrived. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he figured that magic was probably involved. Stephen let slip a moan thrusting hesitantly into his mouth as the Gentleman stroked his thighs in encouragement. He evidently knew  _exactly_  what he was doing to Stephen whose hands drifted down to his hair and carded through it with great care, occasionally alighting on a strand and curling it around his fingers.

 

_How often has he had occasion to perform this activity over the centuries_? The question felt bitter, made him greedy. He needed more. If Stephen was to return each night to this place whether he willed it or not, he would be certain that it left some lasting mark upon the master of Lost Hope no matter how invisibly.

 

The Gentleman doubted that Stephen realized how little occasion he had for such particular pleasures. Truthfully, he was usually the one on the receiving end, but there was something about Stephen he was still trying to sort out. No matter how much he got of him, he always wanted more. He pressed a hand to Stephen’s hip as he swallowed more of his elegant cock, savoring the fine taste of his skin. It did not surprise him to discover that he was beautiful in every conceivable way. He had imagined just such a scenario countless nights. For  _him,_ he went to lengths he could scarcely imagine doing for anyone else in his court. He would endeavor each night to be sure that Stephen Black thought of little else whilst he was around and could think of little else after he had left the dance, but how it felt to be on the receiving end of excruciating pleasures.

 

Stephen was shaking under the Gentleman's attentions, the images continued to assault him even as he teased out more sensation, drew it out from someplace dark and hidden, like he was attempting to draw away Stephen's thoughts to taste them. He tried to clear his head by balling a fist until it hurt. What he particularly desired was something that he was hesistant to acknowledge even in the relative quiet of his mind. Ever since he had seen the Gentleman bare and spread across his lap, he had pondered sheathing himself inside that graceful, agile body. He wondered what the price might be. Hazily, he reached down to brush the Gentleman’s shoulders before he was unable to stop himself.

 

The Gentleman rather reluctantly left off when he felt Stephen grasp him. He had been having a delirious amount of fun coaxing and teasing Stephen until he was practically begging for release. He wished that he could bottle his moans and his cries to keep for later. Now there was a thought…

 

The Gentleman with the thistle-down hair looked distinctly disheveled. His shirt was hanging off one shoulder and his eyes were glazed and had a far off look as if he were pondering something that held him in its thrall. But he was still trying hard to appear cool. Well, Stephen would soon fix that. He still had to pay him back for tearing his clothes. There was certainly no turning around and retreating now. 

 

"Here," Stephen said in his sternest voice which was more of a croak considering his present state.

 

The Gentleman strolled over calmly and when he was within arm's reach, Stephen pulled him close. He shuddered to feel his cock brush his overly sensitive skin as he slid onto his lap. The Gentleman remained silent with great effort and worked his nimble fingers on the buttons of Stephen's waistcoat deliberating unduly on each one, snaking his hands inside to slough it off rather than pulling it off. This seemed calculated to allow those hands to wander slowly for as long as possible. Stephen blinked as if he were warding off sleep, those fingertips curling around his middle, his lips drawing closer, that feeling of weightlessness stealing over Stephen’s mind again.

Stephen drew back.

"No," he said firmly. "Not yet."

The Gentleman looked as if he dearly wanted to say something, his brow furrowing, his knees tensing, but Stephen clamped a hand over his mouth to prevent him. He ran the fingers of his other hand down the Gentleman's spine as if memorizing every knotch before they came to rest at his opening.

 

His first impulse was to glare, but the feel of Stephen's hand on his face, his scent, his fingers gently teasing him softened his temper as only Stephen's attentions could.  _Nobody was going to find out about that though_. But he was not going to tolerate any unnecessary rough handling. Stephen shivered at the sudden appearance of something slick and cool on his lower digits. He penetrated him carefully, finding this at least somewhat familiar from his own private forays. The Gentleman quivered, then relaxed. He rarely allowed anyone to touch him in so intimate a fashion, could not remember the last time that he engaged in this particular activity. He breathed across the fingers still clamped to his face setting his own hands to rest on Stephen's shoulders. The Gentleman felt him massaging his entrance as he endeavored to reach further up and in, twisting ever so slightly. 

 

Stephen let slip the hand at his mouth and the Gentleman bit him on the tips of his fingers enough to cause him to wince. He retaliated by withdrawing before roughly thrusting another finger inside of him. The Gentleman yelled in a manner that would have been mortifying in any other situation. Stephen leaned up to silence him with his mouth. He impaled him, plunging deeper, slowly opening him wider, his nose traveling down to brush his neck as he nuzzled at his hairline. The Gentleman's breaths chilled his ear as Stephen buried his digits up to their full and elegant length. At last the fairy regained his voice.

 

"Ahh! You are most…skilled at this…you absolute  _jewel_! " he panted, all sense of cool, otherworldly decorum lost. " _Stephen_ …you look so noble, so...perfect!" He clutched his shoulders tightly until his nails threatened to draw blood.

 

"I…I want…" Stephen began wincing again from the pain and the Gentleman's movements which were making it difficult for him to think. He felt that tug to draw him closer still until he was immersed in him, tangled up in his thoughts as well as his limbs. 

 

"…a sovereign takes what he desires…." the Gentleman finished for him caressing his face even as he struggled to maintain his composure.

 

"Yes…," Stephen uttered before slowly removing his fingers. He went to take himself in hand, but the Gentleman's hand covered his. He gave Stephen a couple of strokes before leaning forward pressing him at his entrance. It yielded by degrees and he slowly sank onto him. Stephen pushed up into him gradually, still defaulting to being gentle and cautious. He felt those long, icy fingers at his temples, his lips hovering over his eyelids which began to close. The Gentleman's eyes were blue mixed with green, oddly warm. But he was seeing them in his mind, that first evening so long ago. Stephen felt his moist lips press lingering kisses to his eyelids as he moved inside of him trying not to be swept away by imagined memories. Stephen forced his eyes open and saw thin, shining threads like delicate chains wrought of silver, interlacing and strong, winding all around him. He heard a voice in his mind, low and rich.  _Mine_.  

Stephen pushed back against it discarding his polite attentions, tightened his grasp on the Gentleman and thrust harder leaning forward to capture a nipple through a gap in the fabric with his lips. He circled it once with his tongue before biting down hard. He heard the Gentleman scream. Stephen did not know how it would feel to take a human lover. But the feel of the Gentleman shuddering above him, attempting to ride Stephen before he regained control and set the pace, pressing into him until he hit a spot at the heart of him that made him twist and moan as if he were suffering agonies, the resulting sounds of which sent delicious shocks all over Stephen's skin, was truly exquisite. He lost himself to the feel of the Gentleman's lips on his forehead, his hands, his thighs clutching his waist, and the sweet painful bursts of pleasure at the head of his cock. The intensity of the sensation was beginning to hurt and the light around them made his eyes sting. The Gentleman appeared to be wreathed in cool, burning flames, that spread to envelop them both, but it did not alarm him. Stephen could feel him brush aside the few remaining barriers inside of his head before seeping in everywhere. He felt his residual anger and his desire to fight leave him.  _Go ahead_ , he thought.  _I have nothing to hide from you._  The walls of the room evaporated in a watery blue light. He had the impression that he dreamt for a time something immeasurably sad, but he was merely a spectator of another's grief. It filled him with pity and longing.

 

Stephen could not quite remember the order of things, but that time continued to pass as they moved together. A moan crept up from his throat and he could feel his release warm and wet pulse from out of him, leaving him tired and aching all over. The Gentleman shook in his embrace, kissing him, and muttering rapidly, fiercely in a language that Stephen could not comprehend. He murmured his name and held something shiny and smooth to his lips. Was he meant to drink? He felt and heard something pulled gently from off of his chest.

 

When he awoke, Stephen found himself lying down somewhere soft. A wind in the shape of fingers entreated him to go back to sleep. Through his eyelashes he saw a shadow lingering over him, briefly felt droplets like lukewarm rain fall upon his face. He smelled in them something like damp leaves and fresh fields sweet with blossoms before succumbing to slumber.

 

 

On the far side of the room, the Gentleman cradled a small bottle with an ornate silver cap. The contents were thrashing about inside and flashing like a miniature thunderstorm. He placed a kiss to the glass and the airs inside briefly changed color to darkest purple and deepest red. He moved a jar containing a still beating heart off to the side to give the little bottle pride of place at the front.

 

Then he crossed back to the other side of the room to lay beside the unconscious figure, to watch him murmur in his sleep, dawn still far away.

 

"Good night, my regal, beautiful Stephen," the Gentleman whispered against his ear as he brushed his cheek with his fingers. 

 

 


End file.
